23 weeks, 4 days

I don't have anything new to report pregnancy-wise, but it's been an oddly rough week. My last post was so optimistic, and I'm still surprised by how quickly that can change. Because, like I've said before: grief is weird.

I'm glad I have my PALS (Pregnancy After Loss Support) group on Facebook, because they help me put words to a lot of my feelings, which I think I'm usually pretty good at, but this is still new territory for me. Yes, once we hit 22 weeks, I was feeling more comfortable with things. That's how far we made it last time, and I just wanted to get past that. And, as soon as I hit 22 weeks, 4 days, I felt even better, because that was officially longer than the last time. And I laid in bed extra long that morning just feeling the baby kick and being grateful and getting excited. And then by Wednesday, which was 23 weeks, 1 day, everything felt heavy again.

I shared this in my Facebook group. It wasn't fear that I felt. I wasn't worried about the baby or myself (although, that's always in the back of my mind). I just felt SAD. I slept on the couch the night before (sometimes it helps with my restless legs), feeling the baby wiggling around inside me. And I let myself feel excited. I let myself finally picture us holding our baby and taking them home. And then, for some reason, I got unbelievably sad that I never got to hold our first baby. Obviously, I've thought about that before -- a lot more so early on -- but I never really felt it the way I did that night. I stared at the empty space in front of me on the couch and thought "she could be laying right here now. She'd be 7 months old if she'd made it to her due date. I'd have a 7-month-old daughter." And I just felt a soul-crushing urge to hug her, to feel those little tiny baby arms wrapped around my neck. My little girl. Needless to say, sleep didn't come easy that night. I tossed and turned for a while, thinking of all I lost and all I still have to gain. This journey is strange.

It didn't go away the next day, either. I was lost in those feelings. I let myself go down that road, because sometimes I just need to. Sometimes I just need to let myself feel it, so I can stop feeling it, if that makes sense. One woman in my PALS group said it perfectly when she said once she passed the point where she lost her previous baby, she started feeling all the same things I did. And the reason was because it made her realize that those two babies really were disconnected now. There were no more similarities. There was no more, "oh yes, I remember this from last time." It's all different now. I never got to experience a single minute of this with my girl. Because I didn't make it this far. And no, there isn't really much difference between 22 weeks and 23 weeks, but it's the knowledge that this week didn't happen with my girl that is enough. To be honest, it felt strange to even say "I'm 23 weeks" when I reached it, because I'd never gotten to say it before. And I realized how badly I miss the innocence of a first pregnancy. That cockiness that comes with every "perfect" checkup, with every "normal" ultrasound, and every "negative" test result. Those days of believing that everything is fine and baby and I are invincible are over. I left work early the other day because I felt dizzy and hot. Everything was fine, but even the tiniest twinge of something not being right is too much sometimes.

I don't know why that day in particular was so difficult. There was nothing special about the date. It was almost a full week after the same gestational age as my loss. But, I know I was sad at work all day. Sad enough to the point where there was a brief period where I just sat at my desk and cried, not even able to see what I was working on. And then I came home and got a text message from my old college roommate, who I simply adore, letting me know that she had her baby girl...whose first name was my #1 choice and whose middle name was Ben's #1 choice. What are the odds? Goodness, that stung. By the time Ben came home and dinner was eaten, I was a bit of a mess. I just cried to him about it all again. And, maybe this is stupid, but I feel bad every time I do, because it's been almost a year, and I feel like I shouldn't still feel that sad. But, that day, it felt almost as fresh as the day I came home from the hospital. I begged him to help me finally name this baby. I had asked him previously and he couldn't get there. I sort of sprung it on him out of nowhere and caught him off guard and only succeeded in making him really sad. But, I need to give her a name. Before her first "birth"day, I need to name her. I need to be able to call her by name when I talk about her, because I do so often. I guess I didn't think I would at first...

He's still not as into the idea as I am. His reasons being that I had more of a connection to the baby. I got to feel her move, I got to be the one doing all the hard work and forming the bond. He was simply an observer from the outside. And yes, he loved that baby, and he misses that baby, but he doesn't feel the loss in the same way I do. And while that makes me really sad, I do respect it, and I do understand it. But, I'm giving this baby a name. Because she did live, she was real, and she does deserve it.